Bad tautology

Criticizing does not make you an intellect-
Nor does thinking make one become a philosopher
The same way how eating doesn't make you to be a nutritionist.

Le sigh

I think I know. But I know not what to think.

Similes, metaphors and imageries

What am I hiding behind my similes, metaphors and imageries?
That is, if I am hiding anything at all-
If so, why?

Discursive

For a moment, I slipped.
Into a period of time, into a stream of consciousness.
Into a moment. Of simpler things.
Of innocence and fragility. Of a line.
No-
Of many lines.

The beginning of stories. Not just any, but mine.

It was the point when my felt-tip pen touched the crisp paper. Where pureness and white became infected with ink. 

With words. But not hollow arrangements of letters accumulated. These were sentences written from the linings of my soul. They were hidden, but I sought for them. And I found them. Each pronouncements exclaimed a verity. A truth. A part of me, exposed. Into a realm of subjectivity, to be analysed and judged. & I thought, then. Cares who? Have I much to lose?

But I am conscious. Self-conscious. Aware of my fragilities. Tender with my imperfections. So I sought to stitch them. Such I did, to my skin and it became a part of me. Every dicta becomes a tattoo.

Am I ashamed? Yes. Often, in fact.
But one has to experience humiliation to know humility.
I reveal to share. To define. To make sense.
Of this madness and chaos that surrounds me.

I reveal to search and find, the meaning of my own humanity.
I write to grow and perhaps to figure out-
The difference between
Writing to remember, and writing so I do not regret and forget.

Terra Firma

The mind is like a ship sailing in a sea of infinity
Let nothing restrain me
Nor let my fears anchor me
My heart is like an engine, humming to be heard
But the wind whispers
With sweet distractions of
& sighs that leave me yearn for
Earth and land to call my own.

Remember

I remember my feet frozen like icicles in the winter
I remember my heart being just as cold,
while anger burned to the core of my bones
I remember thinking to myself then, how paradoxical it all seemed

I remember falling and failing while skating on the ice
I remember nobody held my hands that day

I remember the colour of my bruise.

But I remember to forgive after
For I remember I was no better
& I remember to forget....that is, until today.

*Written during my poetry class today.
"Memory is easily made into poetry because it is a treasure chest within you" -B. Wint

Tree of knowledge

You can grow as tall as the tree,
But your height becomes pointless if you fail to tend to your roots.
The root bears no leaves,
But can the most elevated leaf on a branch be without roots?